


run run away

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4207977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>matt pov around the time of the 2014 brits</p>
            </blockquote>





	run run away

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr, march 2014 
> 
> come say hi [here](http://www.ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com) ! :)

On the Monday before the Brits, Harry Styles shows up in studio after the show. Matt doesn’t even realize until Nick gets a text halfway through their last song, as Fearne’s chatting to him, all ready to go on.

“I’ve got to- um. Head out,” Nick says, reaching forward and giving Fearne a kiss on the cheek. “Have a good show, see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Fearne says, confusedly, and once Nick ducks out of the studio Fearne raises her eyebrows at Matt.

Matt raises his own right back and quietly slips out of studio. He’s not expecting to see Nick, but then he walks by a darkened lounge halfway down the hall and hears voices. Turns back, warily, and peers inside.

Harry Styles is perched on the arm of the sofa in the lounge. Like. Harry Styles, popstar.

Nick’s standing up in front of him, body tense like he’s expecting to be caught at any moment. Harry’s blinking up at Nick, and Matt nearly calls in a hello, and then he stops, something makes him stop and listen. 

“- don’t get why it’s such-” Harry’s saying, and Nick interrupts him. 

“I’ve - god, come on, we’ve talked about this." 

"Nick." 

"Where are you going, on Thursday?" 

From his position in the shadows -  _not watching_ , he thinks, with a twist of guilt,  _just waiting for Nick to be done so I can give him some notes on the show_ \- he can see Harry bite down on his bottom lip. 

"LA,” he says, after a minute. 

“And how long will you be gone?" 

Harry scrubs a hand through his hair. 

"I don’t know,” he mutters. 

“Yeah,” Nick says, nodding. “Alright. So you know why you can’t keep doing this." 

"It doesn’t have to matter,” Harry says, low in his throat. Matt sees him knock his leg against Nick’s. “Can’t we just, like - when I’m here-" 

"Course we  _can_ ,” Nick says, voice like acid. “We can shag when you’re here and completely stop talking when you’re gone, we’re capable of it, we’ve fucking done it before. But it makes me feel completely  _shit._ I’m sick of it." 

_Shag when you’re here_. Matt tries not to hear that. But he did, he definitely did. Alright then. He’s learning all sorts of new things today.

"I’m not trying to make you feel shit-” Harry’s voice is shaky. 

“Course you’re not,” Nick says, sounding softer, and Matt winces as he watches Nick cup Harry’s face in both hands. “I know you don’t mean to, Haz. It’s just that I’m a bit in love with you, you know? And every time you come back it reminds me how completely stupid and tragic that is." 

"It’s not stupid,” Harry says fiercely. “I - you too. I love you too-" 

"Christ, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation here,” Nick says, huffing out a breath and dropping his hands, grabbing his phone from his pocket. “You can turn it on and off, though, do you see that? You’re so good at that. You love me, and you love your mum, and the lads, and Kendall, and _everyone_. Shit, Harry, I’ve got to go-" 

Harry sucks in a breath, eyes narrowing. "So I’m, like, a slag, is that it?" 

"A bit, you are,” Nick says, his hand rubbing at the juncture of Harry’s neck and shoulder, Harry not pushing him away. “You know that, love. Doesn’t matter, except for how I can’t do that. At least not anymore." 

He laughs sourly. "The stupid thing is how it feels like I’m ending things with you when I’m the one who gets so entirely wrecked whenever you leave-" 

"You  _are_  ending things,” Harry says, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t want to stop- why. Why do we have to stop?" 

Matt really should leave. He should just go. 

He doesn’t. 

"Because it’s not  _enough_ ,” Nick says. His voice cracks like it does when he’s overtired or ill. “I have to go, fuck, Harry. I’ll see you Wednesday, okay?" 

Harry nods slowly, and Nick turns to go, Matt ducking quickly behind the door - but before Nick can get there, Harry pulls him back by the arm. 

He stands up, shoves Nick back against the wall and kisses him hard, kneeing his thighs open roughly and grabbing at his hair and doing a couple other things Matt really can’t and shouldn’t process about a coworker. It’s loud, the sound of wet mouths, Nick letting out a strangled gasp, and then Harry pulls back, still holding Nick’s hair in one hand, possessive, his fingers against Nick’s scalp. His eyes are almost frighteningly dark and Nick looks dazed. 

"M'the one who does this to you,” Harry whispers, so low Matt can barely hear. His leg shifts between Nick’s thighs, presses forward. “Don’t fucking forget." 

Nick draws in a shaky breath, face going through a whole range of expressions.

"Fuck you, Haz,” he says, softly, and Harry takes a step back, wiping his hand over his mouth, and turns away. His eyes are wet, Matt can see for a split second, and then he’s walking towards the door and Matt gulps fearfully and ducks into the empty room next door. 

He waits til Harry passes, and then until Nick leaves, going the other direction, before he opens the door. 

–

“How bout Harry Styles on the post-Brits show?” Fiona says halfway through their production meeting the next day, waggling her eyebrows, and Matt looks at Nick, trying to keep his face blank. 

“He’ll be on a flight on Thursday,” Nick says, without any expression, tapping his pen on the table. “Could do a call, maybe, if the timing’s right. I’ll ask.”

“We don’t have to,” Matt says quickly. “I mean. Could try and get one of Clean Bandit in or something. What about Lily?" 

Nick snorts. "Lily’s not  _that_  good a mate. Woman likes her sleep.”

“It’s tradition by now, innit?” Fiona says. 

“It’s fine, Matt,” Nick says, tapping on his phone. “I’m sure he’ll be up for it." 

Matt sighs.

–

The Brits are - fine. Matt gets drunk. Nick starts drinking as soon as they sit down and never stops - the kind of steady, relentless drinking that they were all cautioned against in uni. 

"Hey,” Matt says, taking Nick’s vodka-soda from him when One Direction wins for a second time. Nick glances over at him, cheeks flushed. “Slow it down, Grimshaw, you have a show to present tomorrow." 

"Sod off,” Nick says sweetly, yanking the glass away. “It’s the  _Brits_." 

"The Brits don’t mean you can’t get alcohol poisoning, Nicholas,” Matt snaps back, but he lets it go. As long as Nick is at his desk at 6:30 AM tomorrow, he can do whatever the hell he wants. 

–

Nick’s at work on time, if not entirely sober. Matt would care more if his head wasn’t spinning so bad. Culturally relevant, he keeps reminding himself. It’s, like. Expected of him. Or of Nick, at least, and the crew by proxy.

The [call](http://ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com/post/77272297372/when-nick-called-harry-the-morning-after-the) to Harry goes off without a hitch. It’s short, it’s funny, it sounds good on radio. 

Nick hangs up and seems fine. He does the rest of show. Matt keeps an eye on him - what, it’s his  _job_. But Nick seems honestly and actually fine. 

Matt knows him pretty well though, after all this time. Nick can hide much more than people think he can. He just usually doesn’t want to.

After the show, Nick begs off the production meeting, and Matt ends up canceling it. 

“I’ll email you all,” he says, rubbing at his temples. “Like. Later tonight." 

Fiona moans a thank-you from where she’s half-sleeping on the floor, and Ian nods as he yawns. 

Nick’s halfway down the hall when Matt says - "Nick! Hey, uh. Wait." 

Nick wheels around, phone in hand. 

"Yeah?" 

Matt coughs. "Um. You, uh, you alright?" 

"I’m fine,” Nick says, snappishly. The hangover’s definitely settling in. “If this is about me being a bit, like- out of it-" 

"It’s not.” Matt says, and Nick looks at him expectantly, face tight and irritated. 

“Well?" 

"I, er. Just wanted to-"  _god_ , Matt hates emotional talks. "Wanted to make sure you were, like. Alright. About - Harry." 

Nick’s eyes flicker. "The call was fine, wasn’t it?” he says, easily enough. 

“Yeah, whatever. Was good. I mean - uhhh." 

"I need to take a handful of paracetamol and sleep for years,” Nick groans, waving his hand. “Spit it out, Matt." 

"You and him, I mean,” Matt says, wincing. “I - like. Do you want me to stop joking around about it? You could’ve said-" 

Nick’s face goes defensive and immediately shuttered, like he’s too tired to turn it into a joke. "Dunno what you’re talking about." 

"Jesus Christ, Nick,” Matt says sharply. He’s trying to  _help_  here. “I know he was in studio on Monday." 

He flushes all the way down his neck. Damnit. 

"We’re fine,” Nick says. 

“Yeah, sure." 

"I’m too fucking exhausted for this,” Nick says, rubbing a palm over his face. His voice drops, hoarse and resigned. “Course I’m not  _fine_ , Fincham, but that’s fucking life, init? That’s me being an idiot about a fucking popstar. So don’t - ask me about it. Yeah? Can we just - not?" 

He drops his hand, smiles at Matt, eyes humorless and mouth tight. 

"Fine,” Matt says helplessly. “Sorry." 

"Not your fault.” Nick turns away. “See you tomorrow. Get some sleep, you look a wreck." 

He’s one to talk. "See you,” Matt calls, and Nick raises his arm in a wave. 

Matt should follow Nick’s advice- eat a load of carbs and drink a massive amount of water and pass out as soon as possible. 

And he will. Just - after he rewrites the Showquizness bit for tomorrow. After he takes out the Harry Styles wee joke he’d been planning and replaces it with something that’s less likely to make Nick look like a kicked puppy. 

Nick might act like he’s just fucking fine, but Matt is his  _producer_.

It’s his job to take care of the idiot when he refuses to take care of himself. 


End file.
